Worst Case Scenario
by Maggy
Summary: Complete: Miss Parker's gun goes off during the chase, invoking a Worst Case Scenario... Updated email and fixed typos on 10 Aug 05. Note recurring artifact which appeared in One Step.
1. Thunder

**Worst-Case Scenario**

A Pretender fanfic  
by Maggy

R/R e-mail: maggysfic (at) aol (dot) com  
Please do not archive without permission.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters, and I respect the rights of those who do. Sometimes, though, the characters show up unannounced and demand to have their stories told. I am but a helpless channeller...

Timeline: This tale takes place after IOTH with slight references thereto. Also, this tale makes specific references to another story I wrote, "Sotto Voce." Even though it is no longer posted, I hope the references are detailed enough not to spoil this story.

A/N: I guess I'm a hopeless MP/J. too.

LANGUAGE: Mild cursing.

**CHAPTER 1: Thunder**

More than a month had passed since the catastrophe on Carthis, and, except for Miss Parker's phone call, which she had not shared with anyone, no one had heard a thing from Jarod. Raines was walking around waving his new thumb in everyone's face, while Lyle hurried behind him like a trained lapdog. Both made nervous noises about "must find Jarod" and "must find the scrolls."  
In spite of the shake-up in the Centre's power structure, there seemed to be surprisingly little interest in the Pretender Retrieval Team of Miss Parker, Sydney and Broots. Miss Parker had just begun to worry that Jarod's "What about us?" call had been his final contact with her, when her office door opened just wide enough for Broots's hesitant bald head to poke through.  
"What?"  
"Jarod."  
She could tell by her colleague's expression that the Pretender was up to something, and waited a couple of seconds before snapping again. "Well? Is he running? Time to begin the chase for the three hundred twenty-third time?"  
Broots's visible eye took on a gleam of excitement, enough to propel him into the room. "We may not have to chase this time, Miss Parker. It was really kind of an accident that I was doing a routine check on some of the Centre's closed accounts, and--"  
"Reader's Digest version, please, Broots!"  
"I'm pretty sure he's still in the process of setting up his -- operation. He won't know we're coming."

She surged up from her desk and crossed the room with a panther's grace. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? You know the drill. Get Sydney. We are going to finish this thing once and for all."

A mere seventy-two hours later, everything was in turmoil. Miss Parker unbuckled herself from her seat at the back of the Centre's corporate jet, and slowly made her way to the exit ramp. She had feigned sleep during the entire trip from Acapulco, preferring not to have to answer questions, or worse, make small talk. It didn't help. She kept seeing the replay over and over in her mind... how a single gunshot suddenly changed everything... again.

Broots hadn't wanted to leave Sydney in Acapulco any more than she did, but she could not listen to recriminations. Under the circumstances, they had had no choice. It was just as well that her tecxpert busied himself with gathering up his gear, avoiding her eyes as he passed. What could she say? What could anyone say about the nightmarish way this retrieval mission had been botched?

Somehow, Sam preceded her in deplaning, and had the car warmed for her against the drizzling Dover rain. As they rolled onto the highway from the private airport, Miss Parker leaned forward.

"Sam?"  
"Miss P?"  
"My report to Raines and Lyle can wait. Take me home first, please."

The sweeper's expression faltered slightly at the unexpected courtesy of the request, but she didn't make any attempt to repair the damage. It was too late for that. She stared out the window, replaying the scene over and over-- the running, the chasing, the yelling-- and once again, she was forced to return to Delaware without the Pretender.

Gradually she became aware of the subtle change in the road surface, and gazed out the window at the suspension bridge she knew was barely ten miles from her home.

"Stop here, Sam."

He was well-trained; he didn't make any foolish protests about the illegality of stopping on a bridge.

It was after midnight, and the rain had worsened as they drove. Miss Parker climbed slowly out of the car, gun drawn. Rain stringed her hair, and her heels clicked on the wet concrete as she walked to the southernmost end of the bridge. Making sure the safety was on, she removed the ammo clip and with a quick movement tossed it over the bridge into the churning water below. Then, with a heaving groan, she flung the handgun after it, watching desperately until it disappeared into the darkness. Although she knew it was too far away, she imagined she heard the satisfying plop! as it broke the surface.

She pictured it turning slowly as it sank, making its way to the impenetrable depths of the river, perhaps to be washed along with the tide somewhere out into the ocean...

Miss Parker rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, feeling the accumulation of rain on her cheeks. Several moments passed before she ralized it was only that: rain. There would be no release for her, no crying; that she could feel as surely as she could feel the knot of ice in her chest and the hollow sickness in her stomach. Tears were hot, and she had no warmth left.

"Miss Parker?" Sam's raised voice broke into her thoughts. "Theres a car coming from the other side of the bridge."

"Thank you, Sam." Moving quickly, she re-entered the car and leaned back. "I'm ready to go home."

Already she could hear the siren call of an unopened bottle of Scotch.


	2. Open Wounds

** Worst-Case Scenario**

A Pretender fanfic  
by Maggy

Please R/R or e-mail: Maggysfic AT aol DOT com  
Please do not archive without permission

**CHAPTER 2: Open Wounds**

The doorbell woke her, forcing her to open her eyes and acknowledge the dawn of an empty day. Parker held her stomach and its contents steady as she groped her way off the couch and stumbled across the living room. A single glance into the fisheye nearly negated all her efforts.

Lyle and Raines were the last people she wanted to see this morning-- or any morning-- and for a moment she actually regretted throwing her gun away.

Then she remembered why she'd done it. A gut-wrenching spasm shook her, and she had just enough time to get to the sink in the kitchen before the nausea overcame her control.

The doorbell rang a third time, and then once again.

"I'm coming," she hollered through the salsa-beat in her temples. She splashed cold water on her face, wiped the edges of her eyes with a napkin, and moved once more towards the door.

"For God's sake, it's nearly 10:30, Parker," her alleged brother announced in the teasing voice he sometimes affected. "Why aren't you at the office participating in the investigation?"

"Investigation?" The word surprised her.

"It seems the Triumvirate is not exactly pleased to have one of their prime employees turned into shark chum," Raines purred. "There are questions to be answered, my dear."

Almost-- almost-- she turned on the man to wipe the "my dear" off his pursed and sour face.  
Instead, she rubbed her forehead. "My report will be on file by five o'clock this afternoon."

"There will be questions," Raines wheezed.

"Well, then, direct them to Willie," she snapped, almost achieving her customary acerbity. "Now I'd like to shower and have some b-breakfast, so unless you want that report to be late..."

Lyle's eyes glittered as he stretched his mouth in a feral smile. "If you need any help with that shower, Sis--"

"Get the hell out of here, Lyle, or so help me--" Parker ground out.

He shrugged, never losing his grin. She opened the door suggestively, trying not to let them see how much of her vertical stature depended upon its support.

Raines led the way out onto the porch, and Lyle followed, pausing only to wink at her before she slammed the door behind him.

This time, she got the door locked and made it into the bathroom before she vomited again.

At precisely four-thirty, she walked unannounced into her-- into Raines's office. As she'd expected, Lyle was there, sitting in a chair beside the enormous glass-topped desk. What surprised surprised her was to see Willie sitting with them.

All three were drinking what looked like champagne.

Lyle jumped up when she entered, but she kept her ice blue eyes rivetted on the sweeper. Only when her report dropped on Raines's desk did she break her gaze, briefly.

"As you requested. My detailed report."

Then she whirled back to face Willie. "Three words: Watch. Your. Back."

"Miss Parker," Raines admonished. "You can't blame Willie for what happened."

She did not turn away. "Oh, I can. Oh, I do."

"Parker--" Lyle added his voice to the general protest.

She ignored him, striding out of the office without a backward glance.

The elevator doors had already closed, and Parker had pressed the button for SL-9 before she realized where she was going. By then it was too late. She slumped wearily against the back of the car.

SL-9. She had spent so much of her so-called childhood there... It was there that she'd learned important things, about friendship and trust, about loss, and, she finally admitted to herself, about love. With a heavy heart, she allowed her feet to take her to Jarod's quarters.

Someone was there before her, sitting dejectedly on the bed. She hadn't realized he'd returned, and her heart quickened in surprise.

He looked up when she moved into the doorway, and his eyes suddenly became cold. Without speaking, he dropped the origami bird-figure-- the symbol of retribution-- on the cot. Then, as if she did not exist, he stepped around her, and moved away down the hall.

"Sydney, I--" Her voice faltered as he disappeared into the elevator without acknowledging her presence.


	3. Freefall

** Worst-Case Scenario**

A Pretender fanfic  
by Maggy

R/R e-mail: maggysfic AT aol DOT com Please do not archive without permission

**CHAPTER 3:  
Freefall**

Somehow, she made her way back home again. In the middle of her third glass of Scotch she drifted off, not to dreams, or nightmares, but something much, much worse: memories.

Suddenly she was back at the top of the cliff in Acapulco, where they had, literally and on foot, chased Jarod. He had been taken completely by surprise when they showed up during his shift behind The Cliffside Bar. Of course, he'd run for his life. They both knew the steps to the dance.

It was Parker's turn for complete surprise, though, when Raines showed up with a sweeper team, led by his favorite lapdog, Willie. Lyle had been conspicuously absent.

She and Sam had run headlong after Jarod, with Sydney and Broots stumbling behind and the other sweeper team running a close third. Willie and Raines's two sweepers had drawn their guns, and she remembered worrying about someone getting shot in the chaos.

All at once, about fifty feet in front of her, Jarod had stopped moving. He'd run out of ground, and the water was fifty feet below him. She grinned, and halted, aiming her gun carefully.

"It's over, Jarod," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind. "No more running, no more chasing."

"Are you sure this is the ending you want, Miss Parker?" he'd said. She saw his eyes dart to look behind him, at the cliff.

"Never been more sure of anything, Jar--"

Without warning, feet thudded behind her, and a heavy weight pounded into her. As she lost her footing, she felt her hand clench convulsively. Thunder roared in her ears, but her gaze sought Jarod's. She saw his dark brown eyes widen in shock--

and then he was gone.

"JAROD!" she heard herself scream, but she couldn't move. He'd jerked, once, and then-- just disappeared. He couldn't have-- "Jarod?" she whispered helplessly.

"Jarod!" Her cry was echoed by Sydney, who rushed past her, kicking off his shoes ino order to dive into the water far below. Somehow Sam and Broots managed to restrain him, the former by clutching his arms and the latter by grabbing hold of his belt from behind. Still Parker could not move.

"No!" Sydney was protesting. "Let me go-- he--"

"He's gone, Syd," Broots murmured.

All at once, someone released her arm, and she turned to meet Willie's inscrutable gaze.

"You-- bastard! Get a team down there, NOW!" she roared. Her voice was the only part of her that seemed to be working properly. Everything else -- her legs, her arms-- felt frozen.

Then Sydney turned his lined and anguished face to her. "You shot him, Parker. You've killed Jarod."

"I didn't--" She stopped. To say "I didn't mean to" sounded weak, even to herself. To say "Willie pushed me" sounded even worse. "Yeah, well, let's make sure he's dead before we start passing out the black armbands." The cruel rejoinder came to her lips out of habit, but Sydney's eyes clouded. He walked away from her, shaking his head.

Broots hovered between her and Sydney, clearly unsure of where his responsibilities lay. "Miss Parker, what--"

"Go with Sydney, Broots. Keep him out of the water, and let me know if they find... anything... down there." Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard against the volcanic pain in her stomach. Forcing a smile to her unwilling lips, she nodded as if she were satisfied. "Well, that's it, then. Daddy will be so pleased."

"Daddy?" Broots mumbled, as he hurried away.

It was then that she caught herself, realizing the error she'd made. Well, if it distracted Broots, it was worth it, she thought. If only she could find something to distract herself... or better yet, wake her from the nightmare. The grass beneath her booted feet began to move in strange surging waves towards her face, and she inhaled deeply.

A hand grasped her arm, bringing her back to herself.  
"I've got the car ready. Do you want to go down there, Miss P?" It was Sam beside her now.  
"No, Sam. They'll let me know if--" Her throat closed, preventing further speech.

At the car, he paused in opening the door for her.  
"I saw it, Miss P. He pushed against you. And he grabbed on so you couldn't move."

She raised startled eyes to the sweeper's, and he continued. "I was watching you, like I always do. He did it on purpose. Those rumors about Raines wanting Jarod dead must have been true. I just didn't expect--"

"Well, he got his wish," she interrupted. "Take me to the airport. I want to get back to the Centre and start packing up my office. With Jarod gone, this nightmare is finally over."

To her surprise, Sam patted her shoulder awkwardly before closing the door. "Anything you say, Miss P."

She managed to keep it together until she got into the back seat of the limo, and raised the privacy barrier between them. It was then that she realized she was till holding the gun, unholstered, with the safety off. By reflex, she snapped the lock in place, but instead of putting it away, she found herself staring at the weapon. Slowly, she turned it over in her cold hands. The force of the explosion had been so great that it was still warm. How odd that she'd never noticed the heat before, she thought, before sliding it into its holster.

Not until she'd buckled herself into a seat at the very back of the jet, far from Broots's accusing silence, did the day's events begin to penetrate her shock.

It was finally over.  
The reality knifed her as no sword or scalpel could have done.  
She had shot Jarod. And she had killed him.

As the plane taxied toward take-off, Miss Parker closed her burning eyes and pretended to sleep.

Somehow, it was worse than when Tommy had been murdered. After she'd found him dead on her porch, she'd been in shock. She'd moved around, done what she was supposed to do, played the ultimate Pretend. But, when she began to recover, she had had a suspect to hate, a mystery to solve. Jarod had seen to that, prodding every step of the way, helping to channel her desperate anger. When she'd learned it had been Bridget who had murdered Tommy, her rage had nearly blinded her--  
--Jarod had kept her focused. He'd given her leads, kept her on track, prevented her from making irrecoverable mistakes.

And now he was gone. It was over. Her life was her own, to do with as she pleased. No more sweet, snivelling Broots sneaking his bike into her office every morning. No more hesitant, helpless Sydney hovering between Freud and father to Jarod.

No more wild goose chases to cornfields in Kansas, trans-continental container truck rides with Lyle, trumped up arrests, strip searches, cockroach traps, or bouts of the flu...

... No more surprise posthumous surprise gifts from her mother, elusive clues about her past, poignant reminiscences about shared childhood...

... No more soft bunnies, perfumed roses, romance novels, or Valentine candies...  
Almost, she felt the onset of tears, but they turned gritty behind her eyelids, and refused to fall. Crying would change nothing. Crying hadn't brought her mother back, hadn't brought Faith back, hadn't brought Tommy back, hadn't brought her father back. But during all those terrible times in her life, she had had Jarod to cry with. She could not cry now.


	4. No Man Is an Island

** Worst-Case Scenario**

A Pretender fanfic  
by Maggy

R/R e-mail: maggysfic (at) aol (dot) com Please do not archive without permission  
I'm sorry about the odd spacing. I tried to update my e-mail address on each chapter, and somehow the line-spacing went awry.

**CHAPTER 4: No Man Is an Island**

Miss Parker opened her eyes to find sunlight filtering through the stained glass window in her living room, and her Scotch glass still half-full beside her on the couch cushion. She was momentarily amazed that she hadn't tipped it over in her nightmare-- except that she knew it hadn't been a nightmare.

The morning silence was abruptly broken by an odd ringing, and it took her a moment to place its source. She had turned off her cellphone when she got home, knowing that the one voice she wanted most to answer her customarily terse "What?" had been silenced forever--at her hands.

It was her home's landline that was ringing. Parker reached over to the sofa table with an unsteady arm to pick it up.  
"Hello?"

"Is this Miss Parker?"

When she heard the hurried, somewhat nasal voice of a stranger, Parker realized that she had been holding her breath, foolishly hoping...

"Who the hell is this?" she snarled.

"It don't make any difference who I am at this point in time, lady. Are you Miss Parker, or is this the wrong tree I'm barkin' at?"

She closed her eyes. "Yes, I'm Miss Parker. What the hell do you want?"

"What's with all the cursing? Could we have a little less cursing, and a little more attention to this very important phone call, please?"

"Spit it out or I'm going to hang up," she snapped.

"All right-- all right. I have instructions from the J-man. To be delivered in the untimely event of his premature demise."

"The J-man?" Parker swallowed against the knot that twisted in her stomach. "Do you mean Jarod?"

"Who else, lady? You with me, or do I call the next name on the list? Jeez, I don't even know if it's a man or a woman-- somebody named B--Broots?" The voice held a peculiar note of tension.

"No. You don't have to call anyone else," she said quickly. "I'm with you. But I'd like to know who it is I'm-- with. You know my name. What's yours?"

Her strange caller was silent for a moment; then he giggled, giving Parker a moment to wonder what kind of lunatic she was dealing with.

"You can call me-- Mr.-- Argyle."

"All right, Mr. Argyle," she said, closing her eyes wearily. "What do you want?"

"The instructions say for you to meet me at--"

"Meet you? What the h-- why should I meet you? How do I know you're not just some crackpot who wants to hurt me?"

"You don't-- but I ain't."

"And how do I know you even--" she hesitated over the verb "--knew Jarod?"

"Why would I call you if I didn't know him? That's crazy."

"Not where I come from, it isn't," Parker remarked.

"Well, it's up to you, lady. J-man's note says to meet me at the top of his building, tomorrow night."

"His building? What the-- how could you-- That doesn't make any sense, Mr. Argyle."

"Sure it does. There's a special note for me, explaining what he meant, but if you don't get it, it says I'm supposed to wait a minute for you to figure it out. 57. 56. 55. 54..."

In fact, Parker had understood the reference almost immediately, but the whole situation was too surreal. If this was some posthumous gag of Jarod's--  
"Stop counting and just read me the note, Mr. Argyle." Parker forced a note of patience into her voice in spite of her tension.

There was another pause. "Well, let me see. You know it doesn't say nothin' about not readin' it-- OK." He cleared his throat. "'Dear Argyle' -- There's some personal stuff at the beginning. We go way back, J-man and me. We been to Jersey, Vegas..."

"Could you reminisce later, please?" Parker asked sweetly.

"In a hurry? All right, then," Argyle snapped. "It says: 'Call Miss Parker and tell her you have a red notebook for her. It's in the red box. Tell her to meet you-- alone-- at the top of my building and you will give her the information in the envelope. She may have been celebrating, so give her a minute to figure it out. She will figure it out. And even if she has been celebrating-- no, especially if she has been celebrating-- I know she will come, because I know her better than anyone.'"

After a moment, Parker realized Mr. Argyle had stopped reading.  
"Is that it?" she asked quietly.

"Except for the note telling me where to meet you. What does he mean about the celebrating? Were you celebrating? Are you one of them Centre bitches chasing him so you could put him back in a cage?"

His question caught her unawares. "What do you know about the Centre?"

"More than I want to know, lady. And how is Brigitte?"

"She died in childbirth," Parker said shortly. "What time are we supposed to have this little rendez-vous? And how will I know you?"

"Be there at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't worry, I'll know you. J-man left me a description." With a strange giggle, Mr. Argyle hung up.

Parker stared at the phone in her hand for a moment before hanging it up absently. Who the hell was Mr. Argyle? Undoubtedly, another one of Jarod's "weak and helpless" rescuees.

Trust Jarod to leave her one more mystery, even after--  
The pain knifed through her again, this time doubling her over. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to slide off the couch and kneel on the floor. Holding her stomach, she realized how much better she felt not to be fighting gravity. After a moment, from her nearly prone position, she was able to see things in a new light. Jarod was gone, that much was certain. But if some strangely nasal-voiced man named after yet another God-forsaken Scottish island said he'd left her a message, she owed it to him to get it-- even if it killed her.

It was an option which seemed less and less like a bad idea.


	5. Sweeper Training

** Worst-Case Scenario**

A Pretender fanfic  
by Maggy

R/R e-mail: maggysfic (at) aol (dot) com  
Please do not archive without permission

**CHAPTER 5:  
Sweeper Training**

An hour later, Parker had put the Scotch away, jammed some clothes into an overnight bag and was heating a second pot of coffee when her doorbell rang.

"Oh, give me a break!" she exclaimed, once again wishing for the familiar presence of her gun. "What the hell is it now?"  
She caught her breath in surprise when she saw who it was. He was probably the last person she'd expected.

"Broots? What are you doing here?"

Her habitually harrassed coworker seemed positively distraught.

"Miss Parker--" He glanced nervously over his shoulder.

"Out with it, Broots. Why did you drive all the way up here-- you could have called."

"Your cellphone is off, and your wire phone is off the hook." He walked over to the sofa table, and clicked the receiver against the switchook.

"Oh," she said, chagrined. She must have been even more rattled by Mr. Argyle's call than she'd realized. "What is it, Broots?"

"Lyle. And Mr. Raines."

"They paid me a visit at the crack of dawn yesterday in order to threaten me with a Tower investigation. Tell me something new."

Broots straighened his spine and met her eye directly. "OK, how's this? Your phone is tapped and they intercepted the call from Mr. Argyle."

She narrowed her eyes angrily. "Oh, they did, did they?"

"Oh, didn't they? Then I overheard Raines telling Lyle to intercept the package, too."

"Intercept? You mean, they're planning to send a sweeper team?"

Broots nodded. "Led by Lyle. Personally. Look, Ms. Parker, it's really too dangerous. Jarod is dead, and you don't know who this guy is-- but they do. They talked about him as if they knew him but didn't like him much. Kind of the way they talk about me."

"Their mistake," she said, flashing Broots an unintentional smile. She appreciated his driving so far out of his way to tell her. "You're right, Broots. It could be a trap. I know that. But it also could be real. You know the kind of people Jarod befriends-- remember Bernie and the Little King? The strange man on the phone could have some information about J-- about my mother."

The balding man heaved a sigh. "I figured you'd say that. So I brought you some other news. I guess we could call it 'good news' if we're talking about a bell curve."

"Thrill me."

"I don't think they know where you're going."

She looked up from checking the lock on her suitcase. "What?"

"They were trying to get Angelo to work his empathic mojo, and explain the message. I don't think they'll get much. He was pretty confused."

"What about-- Sydney?" Her voice caught on the question.

Broots dropped his gaze to the floor. "Syd's locked himself in the room on SL-9 with all the DSAs we've been able to recover."

Tears prickled at the back of her throat, but she ignored them. "I'll deal with Sydney when I get back, Broots."

She began pacing across the mahogany floor. "They didn't get it..." Her frown slowly became a beatific smile. "That means there's a chance--"

"You know what it means?"

"Of course I know what it means." She continued pacing. "Quiet a minute. I need to think... OK, Angelo will have to tell them. It's not his fault. They'll try to follow me, or maybe get there first, which means-- Broots, did you drive here in your own car?"

He nodded.

"Great. Would you drive me to the train station? Oh, and how much cash do you have with you? Let me just make one phone call--" She grabbed the wad of cash he pulled out of his pocket. "I'll write you a check. Cash it fast."

Miss Parker grabbed the phone, and dialed quickly. "I need to find out when the next train leaves Dover for Chicago," she said.

Broots began shaking his head in warning, then started waving his hands in little crawling motions she interpreted as bugs.

"Yes, thank you," she said, nodding and smiling at him. "And how much for the round-trip ticket? OK. I'll be there thirty minutes before departure." She gave her credit card and telephone numbers, then hung up.

"But, Miss Parker--" Broots was shaking as if he would burst. "You just--"

"I know, Broots. I know." She smiled. "I'll be ready in two minutes."


	6. Room Service

** Worst-Case Scenario**

A Pretender fanfic  
by Maggy

R/R e-mail: maggysfic (at) aol (dot) com  
Please do not archive without permission

**CHAPTER 6: Room Service**

Three hours after her telephone had first woken her, Miss Parker was on the train to Chicago via Philadelphia. In Philly, she enjoyed a leisurely lunch, after which she eluded the sweeper team Raines had set to follow her, watched Lyle head purposefully off to Chicago, and managed to board the train to Penn Station. From New York, she changed to the subway, and rattled out to New Rochelle, whence she caught a cab to Stamford, Connecticut. She'd stayed there often, as a halfway point between home and Ben's place in Maine. At the Stamford Marriott, she paid cash for a deluxe room. By then it was nearly eight p.m. Twelve hours to go.

The first thing she did was rip open the seal on the mini-bar and check the quality of the Scotch. Lousy. Then she called Room Service and ordered a bottle of her preferred brand. She managed to resist the urge to have them send up a carton of cigarettes as well.  
Nearly thirty minutes passed, during which she stared at the city-bright landscape outside her window, watching the traffic pass on Route 95. So many people traveling to so many places... Soon she would have no reason to travel except for pleasure, leisure, or her own whim. She would be able to do what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it. She would be free.  
Yet somehow, a future without the Pretender to lead her to peculiar towns off the beaten track seemed extraordinarily unappealing.

A knock at her door interrupted her brooding.

"Room Service!"  
She verified the uniform and nametag before opening the door. "Sean" the redhead's tag read. No surprise there.  
He wheeled in a serving cart bearing silver-domed serving plates and a chilling bottle of champagne.

"Wait a second. I didn't order--"

"I know, Center-lady, but if you're gonna drink a whole bottle of Scotch, you'd better have some food in your belly." The man's nasal voice was irritatingly familiar. "When was the last time you ate, anyway?"

"What--" For the third time she reached for her missing gun.

Mr. Argyle smiled behind his scruffy red beard. "Argyle at your service." With a flourish, he removed the silver cover from a Waldorf salad. "Your favorite."

"How do you know-- and what the hell are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet at the Empire State Building tomorrow morning."

"A little change in plan."

"You'd better have a damned good reason for--"

"There you go with the cursing again. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Leave my mother out of this, weasel." Picking up one of the table knives, Parker glared at him through slitted eyes. "Did the Centre-- how did you find me?"

"Calm down. Calm down. It was in the note." Mr. Argyle's own voice was anything but calm as he gave her a rabbitty once-over. "Well, the J-man said you were a knockout, but-- whoa."

In spite of herself, she was momentarily distracted. "Jarod said I was a knockout?"

"Well, technically speaking, his precise exact words were 'Tall brunette with an icy stare and great legs. And her bite is actually much worse than her bark.'"

Parker's lips curved into a reminiscent smile for half a second before hardening back to the present. "What do you mean, it was in the note?"

"He said you'd know they were following you, so you'd probably sneak out here because you come here a lot."

She ground her teeth together. The labrat had Pretended her.

"So, you're early. Give me the damned box and get out of here."

"Not so fast." He looked at the knife curiously. "Where's your gun? The note said you would have a gun pointed up my nose by now."

"My gun?"

"Yes, your gun. Your gun. You carry a big silver gun. I want to see the gun you shot him with. I want to see the gun that killed my best friend."

She shook her head in protest, startled by the change of subject. Was she actually dealing with a lunatic after all?

All at once there was a movement from under the skirt of the dinner cart. She loosened her stance, preparing to fight. To her amazement, a form pushed its way out from under the linen tablecloth--  
--and gave a sharp bark. In a moment, a small white dog of mixed terrier breed was wagging its tail at Argyle's feet.

"OK. OK," Mr. Argyle said. "Jarod was my best human friend."

Apparently satisfied, the dog bounced over to where Parker stood, and jumped up at her, sniffing. She leaned down, then gave in and dropped to her knees to pat it.

"Well, Centre lady? Where's the gun? You gonna shoot old Argyle and Hero-Dog here in cold blood, like you did with J-man?"

"Not unless you threaten me," she said.

"Why? Jarod didn't threaten you, did he?" When she didn't respond, he went on. "Tell me, how could you do it? How could you hate someone like him so much?"

"It had nothing to do with hate."

"No way. No _ way_! Don't you tell me 'it wasn't personal' because I ain't buyin' it. How could you just shoot somebody like that? Somebody like him?"

Parker kept her fingers buried in the dog's fur, and heard herself say quietly, "It was an accident. I didn't mean to."

For some reason, her answer incensed Mr. Argyle.

"That's Oscar Mayer baloney! Baloney! J-man said you're a crack shot."

His agitation communicated itself to the dog, who gave a noisy bark. She petted him again, trying to calm him.

"You don't have to believe me," she said.

"Yeah, well, you got that right, Centre-lady. You've been hunting him like an animal, and for what? All he wanted was to find his Mom and Pop-- and every time he got close to them, you got in his way."

Parker raised her eyes to Mr. Argyle's reddened face, but said nothing as his frustrated grief washed over her.

"And what did he do? Did the J-man fight back? No. Did he hurt you? No. Did he run off and take all his secrets with him? No, he didn't. While he was searching for his family, he was helping you, too. Every time he found out something about your mother, he--"

Parker found her voice. "I said leave my mother out of this.""No, I don't think so! No way. J-man told me your mother is the key to this whole thing. And before I give you this package--" Argyle picked up a heart-shaped red velvet box: "I need to hear you say you're sorry. Tell me you're sorry you killed the best friend Hero-Dog and me ever had. Tell me you're sorry you killed the best friend you ever had. Then you can have this. I hope it's worth it."

Parker tore her eyes away from the familiar red package, frowning as his meaning became clear. This little man was demanding something from her -- but was she willing to give it?

She let go of the dog and rose, facing the traffic out the window once more. She sighed. What difference now? Still, she would not give in so easily

.

"Sorry?" She managed to inject a healthy measure of her usual venom into her voice. "Sorry? You bet your freckled ass I'm sorry, Mister Argyle. I'm sorry for a lot of things. I'm sorry I ever got up that morning. I'm sorry Sydney didn't kill Raines in that alley in Boston the day Jarod almost met his mother. I'm sorry I didn't actually kill my brother the day I shot him. I'm sorry I didn't turn the gun on Willie the day that Jarod--" She paused suddenly, her anger spent. Her voice lowered to a whisper as she went on, "But most of all, Mr. Argyle, I'm sorry I didn't change the ending of the story the way he wanted me to on Carthis."

Silence fell in the room, except for the sound of the dog's panting. After a moment, she heard Mr. Argyle take a deep breath of his own.

"OK, Centre-lady. Thanks," he said quietly. "I left the box. Come on, Dog."

She didn't move immediately to acknowledge his departure. In a moment she heard four paws padding across the carpet, and then the door closed after them.

But she wasn't alone. Reflected in the window, as if he were standing behind her, was the image of the one person she wanted-- needed-- most to see.

Jarod.

She closed her eyes against the hallucination of her heart, and rested her head against the cool surface of the glass.


	7. Funny Thing about Endings

** Worst-Case Scenario**

A Pretender fanfic  
by Maggy

R/R e-mail: maggysfic (at) aol (dot) com  
Please do not archive without permission

**CHAPTER 7:  
Second Chances**

"_Parker--_"

She imagined his voice whispering her name, and shook her head.

"Parker, turn around."

The chill started at the base of her spine, spreading to her shoulders as she complied slowly. She stared at him for a full moment before she remembered to breathe. Every nerve, every muscle, wanted to run to him, hold onto him--  
"Jarod?"

--but she controlled the impulse, as she had learned to control every emotion she'd felt since that long ago day in the elevator. "You-- I--"

Still, she heard the shock her voice betrayed. To cover the unaccustomed emotion, she walked over to the cart and opened the bottle of Scotch.

"No, you didn't kill me, Miss Parker. I hope you're not too disappointed."

His remark helped to stop the room from spinning, but did not prevent her from answering honestly: "No, Genius, I'm not."  
She sloshed a generous portion of liquor into a glass. When she looked back, he was smiling gently, leaning on a familiar silver-topped black cane. "And I wasn't trying to kill you."

"I know-- now. For a while, I wasn't sure."

"Some genius, then." Parker lifted the glass slowly. "So, it was all a charade? A sim?"

"Not hardly." Jarod's smile disappeared. "I planned the dive. I did not plan to have to swim shark-infested waters bleeding from a bullet wound in my leg. It was touch and go for a while."

"You survived." She shrugged with a well-feigned nonchalance.

"You _shot_ me, Parker," he said. She detected an unexpectedly plaintive note in his voice, and scrutinized him more carefully. Taking in his pallor, the circles under his eyes, the deepened lines around his mouth, and his white-knuckled grasp on the cane, she realized that he wasn't nearly as healthy as he wanted her to believe.

"You used to be better at avoiding those confrontations," she countered.

"I think we've both slowed down a bit, since..."

She glared at him, challenging him to say it out loud.

He met the challenge head on and finished: "Since we got back from Carthis."

She was not prepared to go there. Instead, she gestured toward the door with her glass. "Why the ridiculous production with the leprechaun?"

Jarod's eyes narrowed. "Believe it or not, that 'leprechaun' is probably the best friend I have in the world."

"I feel for you," she said with her usual sarcasm.

"Don't."

"Don't what? Feel for you?" _ Too late_, she thought.

"No. Don't-- start the game again. The chase is over, Parker."

"It was. Now it's started all over again." Her shoulders slumped as reaction set in, and she stared blindly into the empty glass. "I don't want to do this anymore, Jarod. I'm tired. I'm tired of chasing, and you're tired of running. God knows I never wanted you dead-- you know I didn't-- but so help me, deep down, I was almost relieved. I was relieved," she repeated. Tears trickled slowly down her cheeks, but she ignored them. "It was finally over-- and now--what?"

"It's still over, Parker," Jarod said gently. "No more running. No more chasing."

She closed her eyes wearily.

"But you shouldn't have come back. The Centre believes you're really dead. Since I'm being held responsible, I have another T-Board review on Monday. You could have disappeared, and we would have stopped looking for you. We could have had real lives, Jarod. Why would you come back?"

"I couldn't leave without knowing," he said carefully.

"What?" She stared at him for a moment, and as she did she realized there were actually tears in his eyes, emotion hovering just at the edge of his voice.

"The truth."

She turned away abruptly, reaching for the scotch once again. "Yeah, well, like you said, I shot you. The bullet came out of my gun. I loaded it, I drew it, I pointed it, I pulled the trigger. What more is there to know?"

"Well, for starters, why am I not staring down the barrel of that gun as we speak?"

She sniffed a laugh. "It's gone."

"Gone?" Jarod sounded genuinely startled. "You mean the Centre took it away from you?"

"No, Genius. I--" she stopped. Her grand gesture on the bridge seemed a bit melodramatic now.

"Parker?"

She sensed the awkwardness of his movement as he came up behind her. With his free hand, the one that wasn't holding the cane, he took the bottle away, returning it to the cart. Then he placed the hand on her shoulder, pressuring her to turn back to him.

"Parker, what happened to your gun?" His voice was insistent.

"I-- threw it away, OK?" She raised her eyes to his. "In the confusion on the cliff top, Willie pushed against me and I shot you and now my gun is at the bottom of the Delaware river."

His eyes held hers for a long moment. Then his face creased in a boyish grin. "Parker!"

She frowned, but he ignored it, enfolding her in a bear hug.

"Jarod? What are you--?" It took all her strength of will to ignore the warmth of his arms around her, the sudden, overwhelming feeling of comfort... and something else. She didn't want him to let go.

"You threw away your gun-- because of me!" After one strong squeeze, Jarod released her, stepping back to smile again, as if he knew how hard it was for her to admit. Then he touched her cheek, briefly, with his fingertips. "Thank you, Parker. I wanted to believe you didn't do it on purpose. I even Pretended it. But I needed to hear you say it."

"What are you talking about?" She felt her heart beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. Consequently, she tried one last time to deflect him with a question. "What's the big deal?"

The abrupt change in his demeanor reminded her of the moment in the limousine on Carthis when, in her confusion, she had rejected him. Once again, Jarod leaned close, so close she could smell the clean scent of soap and his leather jacket, so close that his voice rumbled in her ear.

"Because the truth is that my life really isn't worth living if the woman I have loved since I was eleven years old truly wanted me dead."

Parker's breath caught in her throat. Closing her eyes, she forced the air out of her lungs. "Since you..."

She could feel the warmth of him, his breath on her face-- and still,the words would not come. In their place, she said, "Jarod, I'm not even sure who I am anymore."

"Oh, Parker." His arms tightened around her again. "You can be anyone you want to be. You always could."

As his affirmation sank into her brain, she found herself taking a deep breath, found herself smiling. "Jarod, after Carthis, I should have--" No, she wanted to see his face. She moved back to put both her hands on his shoulders. "I want to change the ending."

His warm hand came up to caress her chin, sliding the length of her jawline to rest along her cheek. "You're the only one who can."

The last thing she saw for a long time was the warmth shining in his brown eyes as his face moved towards hers.


End file.
